


The Man Who Knew Nothing

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 14:07:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17163374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A visit by Hans Schultz several years after the war proves that, in some matters, he still prefers his old stance - "I know nothing.  I see nothing. I hear nothing."  Or in his latest rendition, "sometimes, I know and see and hear even LESS than nothing!"  Of course, that isn't the case across the board.  Some things he DOES know, and the Command Crew from Barracks 2, Stalag 13, is ready to listen.





	The Man Who Knew Nothing

They'd not been sure what to expect. Letters had been exchanged ever since Andrew had received that first letter, not too terribly long after he came home. (Well, had come home to his NEW home, at Haven, not his home back in the States that wasn't a home anymore - oh, well, it was a long story.). Oh, it wasn't a weekly letter, or even monthly, but they came and went with some degree of regularity.

Some things were talked about, some things were avoided scrupulously, some because of the still present censorship of mail going to and from Germany, ("always some nosy Parker thinking to make everyone's business, 'is business!" Newkirk had grumbled after receiving a letter from Karl Langenscheidt that had more holes than a player piano roll), but also because of the discomfort certain subjects would create, some for fear the information might innocently reach unfriendly ears. Still, other things, there were plenty of other things to talk about.

They had heard about his children, the four of the five who had survived the war and the one who had not, his wife Gretchen who he'd complained so about, but obviously loved devotedly, his nephew Wulfie of whom he'd spoken with such affection back in camp. They heard about his reclaiming his toy factory, sad shambles that the military had left of it, and rebuilding it back to a proud establishment in the business of making toys to make little children laugh instead of armament to make children and their parents weep.

Schultz had heard about Jamie and Louisa's birth, then Karl and Kat's when they came along. He heard that LeBeau had married and had two daughters. And he'd heard much else, but still with many things not discussed or mentioned. They'd all decided to leave the more specific details til they met in person, if that ever happened, knowing how much they would reveal would depend on how that meeting actually went. 

Now, they waited to see the man who, for so very long, made a point of knowing nothing, seeing nothing - the man who had, because of that willing blindness, probably helped keep them alive during those years at camp. As nervous as he was, well, they were hardly any the less.

 

The old man, for he truly was that anymore, if not in actual years, then in the weight the world and events had placed upon him, laborously climbed down out of Ian's plane, assisted by Ian from above, by Newkirk and Carter from below. He got to the ground, panting, and turned.

There they were, his boys. Well, at least two of them. The two he'd cared for the most, perhaps, certainly worried about the most, followed by the Cockroach and Sergeant Olsen and Sergeant Kinchloe. (Not forgetting his 'other' boys, Corporal Langenscheidt and all the others under his command, of course.) Tears filled his rheumy eyes, and his jowls quivered. 

Peter was more than a little surprised to feel a faint mist cloud his own vision; he'd half expected that of Andrew, but not of himself.

"Ei, now, Schultzie, none a that! Come along, the cart's right over there. Let's get you back to the 'ouse, let you 'ave a good sitdown," Newkirk urged, grinning broadly, clapping his hand to the other's broad back. Well, face it, pretty much everything about Hans Schultz was broad. One look at his prospective passenger at that airstrip in Germany and Ian had realized why he'd been directed to use the plane normally used to convey small cargo instead of the little two-seater he'd initially thought to use.

A beaming Carter, grabbing the suitcase and multi-colored carpet bag, followed up with, "yeah, Schultz, everyone's waiting to meet you! Caeide and Maude and Marisol and the kids. We've told them all about you!"

Newkirk was glad he'd remembered to put the wide set of wooden steps in the cart, the ones they'd used when Maude had come down with a debilitating case of aching joints. He figured that was the only way they'd get the old man, even bigger than they remembered, up into the cart; he could tell Schultz sure as hell wouldn't be able to make the walk down to the house. {"Likely collapse with a 'eart attack before we get 'alfway there! Glad we 'itched up with a double team, though. Looks like 'e's put on a goodly amount even over 'is top, there at the camp."}

Schultz looked at the two, "all about me?", suddenly apprehensive all over again, wondering how welcome he would be in the large house he could see below if that were the case.

"Well, sure, Schultzie! We told them how you looked out for us and tried to make sure we didn't get into trouble and just everything! They're real excited!" Carter enthused. "We told the kids you had your own toy factory, and they have loads of questions!!"

Schultz met the gaze of the taller of the two men, uncertainty in his faded eyes. There was a wry understanding in those blue-green eyes.

"It's alright, Schultzie. Maybe they didn't 'ear quite 'everything', but as much as they needed to, enough to know you're a friend, were even then, as much as you could be. Well, alright, there was a time or two . . . But no friendship is without its rough spots, ei?"

"The Cockroach? And Sergeant Kinchloe? They are here also?" he asked, taking a look around as if expecting to see one small figure and one taller, more muscular one bearing a moustache popping out from hiding somewhere.

"Kinch will be along later this evening. Louie? Oh, 'e'll be 'ere in a day or two, 'im and 'is family. 'Ad a few things to get in order before they could start out."

Newkirk had no intention of mentioning that that last one had been a tough sell. LeBeau hadn't any inclination to spend time with any Germans, even one who'd been so helpful to them at camp. His lingering resentment and anger, over his beloved France, over the camp, about being forced to cook for the hated boche, it had never lessened. It had taken a lot of coaxing from everyone to get him to agree. Finally it had been a long drawn out, "but my beloved small von! It will be a lovely reunion! He vas such a big teddy bear!" Then a wry shrug, "a German teddy bear, but still!"

So LeBeau and Marya and Cally, along with their two daughters Michelle and Marie were coming, but a little later than the rest, with a built in excuse for leaving early "a restaurant does not run itself" if it became more than the diminutive Frenchman could handle.

Kinch? Well, Newkirk was glad to hear Schultz ask about him. Newkirk had been pretty sure Schultz had realized Kinch was alive and well, not really a ghost, but with Schultz, one never really knew what he did and didn't know. After all, he'd pretty much perfected the art of "I know NOTHING!".

That day and the next were taken up with introductions and stories shared and laughter and an abundance of good food and drink. Still, they could tell Schultz was holding back, waiting for that last member of their group, LeBeau. After all, he'd said as much. 

"Gifts I have brought, but only for after all have arrived," and although they were all curious, the children very eager, everyone respected his wishes and didn't tease him. Well, not TOO much anyway.

Then, Ian had flown back in, and they'd watched as the newcomers piled down off that cart, Peter and Andrew having gone to fetch them. Caeide and the others were touched to see the wobble in Schultz's face, and that broad grin, "Cockroach!!!" Peter, for his part, was only relieved that LeBeau had tolerated those arms reaching out to pull him into a tight hug; well, along with Schultz having his eyes squinted shut and being unable to see the pained look of indignation on their team mate's face.

The look of pure shock on the man's face when he saw Marya, just as beautiful as ever, even with that scar on her face, was a matter of some amusement.

"Newkirk???! The Russian woman! What is she doing here???", and the discovery that both Marya and Cally, Caeide's cousin, were LeBeau's wives had the effect of, at first, totally bewildering the former guard, and later reducing him to odd moments of giggling. 

It was late, the evening after LeBeau had arrived with Marya and Cally and their daughters, the kids all in bed, the women as well, (or at least upstairs sharing a drink and a comfortable coze of their own), leaving only the four men from the Command Team sitting, sharing a drink with Schultz. 

This was the first time the question had come up. Oh, it had been thought of, many a time, but the subject discarded even before the first words crossed anyone's lips. Certainly the question had never been broached in any of the correspondence. Now, though, in the dim light, the warmth of the stove merging with the warmth provided by the companionship along with the glow from the whiskey, it seemed time.

"Kommandant Klink?" The old soldier's face had an odd look, sad and weary and perhaps a raft of other things best unlabeled. "He goes only by Willie, now. He works for me, you know, at the factory. Oh, not in accounting. In the design and detailing section. He started in accounting, yes, but the reports were getting odd, ever more so, and I would have things like "prisoners' rations' and 'medical supplies' and 'bribes' showing up in the spreadsheets, along with notes about Red Cross packages not arriving on time, and I would have to do them over. His mind wandered, you see, and sometimes he was at the factory, sometimes . . . . Sometimes he was elsewhere."

"From place to place I moved him, trying to find the right spot. Others were not so happy to work with him. I thought at first it was because of the camp, but it was not that. He talks as he works, you see, and his stories, his words can be very disturbing. Once I figured that out, I tried him with some of my odder employees, those with their own unusual ways. Even that did not work; even Klaus, who was deaf, found him disturbing, told of Willie having 'conversations' with the open air, his eyes following along and shifting as if there was an unseen presence moving about the room. Klaus could read lips, but he refused to tell me what he could read on Willie's lips, only that it was very bad and made him very uncomfortable. Finally, after Klaus said he could no longer work with Willie because of the bad dreams, I separated them. There were a few places where Willie could work alone, and I tried them all."

"Surprised you bothered, Schultzie, from all 'e put you through," Newkirk grated out, knowing how they'd seen Klink mistreat and berate the sergeant under his command. Newkirk had his own memories of the Kommandant, and those memories ran an amazingly long and varied gamut of experiences. The few good were outweighed by, well, others. Carter and LeBeau exchanged knowing glances.

An surprisingly open look now, from the former guard to each of the others, a look asking for their understanding if not their sympathy.

"We were not friends, no, never that. But we were comrades of a sort. It was not just that war, but the one before, in which we knew each other. There was some respect between us. Oh, I know, you remember the camp and his yelling and his threats and all the rest. But, that was just his way. And, he was so frightened, frightened of not doing his duty, frightened of being accused of some wrongdoing, frightened of what he was seeing around him, of what the Fatherland had become." He took a long drink from his glass, not protesting when Carter refilled it.

"And he knew what was going on, with you and the others. Oh, not usually the details, but he knew much more than he let on about you and your monkey business. It was futile to combat those in command, he knew that, but in that small way, by knowing and not speaking up, by turning a blind eye, even sometimes by playing the game along with you, he was able to thumb his noses at them."

"He was not a brave man, not by that time, though in the earliest years his nickname of the 'Iron Eagle' would not have been misplaced. Well, neither was I by then, brave, I mean; truly, I never had been, only seeking to do my duty. But at the camp, in small ways, each of us, we tried not to become like those who had taken power, tried to treat as well as possible those given as charges to us - you and the other boys, the guards who were sent to the Stalag only because they were deemed unfit for anywhere else. I survived, better than most. But Willie . . ."

Schultz lowered his head, remembering, then he went on, obviously troubled, struggling to explain.

"Willie is broken, fractured. The Great War, that caused hairline cracks; the next, widened those cracks, made him more fragile. But HE broke him, totally, you see. Colonel Hogan. I do not know how, not so much anyway. PLEASE, boys, I do not want to know how; do not tell me how. But somehow, Hogan broke him, and the pieces did not fit together quite right afterwards. I still find him sometimes, hiding in the darkness, trembling, whimpering about the 'Dark Angel'. He never calls Hogan by name, not any more; only that, the 'Dark Angel'. He speaks of things I do not understand, things I try very hard NOT to understand, things I am afraid would break ME if I ever came to understand."

He cleared his throat, dragging himself back to the conversation, away from the awkward comments that had seemed to cause dark shadows to move forward toward the small group.

"Finally, I tried him in a small room behind the detailing department, putting the faces on dolls and ornaments and nutcrackers and angels and toy soldiers and beer steins. There, there it became obvious where his talents lay. There he is a genius! Always there is a new drawing on the big board behind him, some new creation, some new variation. Perhaps a familiar face from a different perspective, some beautiful, some terrifying. He signs them all but with a name not his own - 'W Renfield'. He insists that is what he is now, a 'Renfield'." Schultz shrugged, indicating his lack of understanding, but also his acceptance of that claim.

"There are now those who collect his work, and there is always a demand. However, I am very careful where it goes, those pieces. His work, much of it anyway, is not meant for the kinder, in my opinion, though perhaps that is just because of how familiar some of those faces are. Hogan, his face often appears."

"At first, Hogan's face showed up only on the toy soldiers, then on some of the angels, then the nutcrackers. I found them disturbing, no matter how beautiful they were; oddly enough, others found them disturbing also. Even in their beauty, there was something malevolent, something too sly, too cunning for true beauty. Still, in seeing what he could create there, that led me to try him on other things, and those seemed more fitting, somehow. There has always been a market for the unusual, the unsettling - a small market, perhaps, but a steady one. We do more of that now, thanks to him."

"Now, his renderings of the drude and the mahr, the night demons, those are sought after by those who are interested in German folklore. He pours over the books, learning of the creatures that exist in our history, in our ancestors' nightmares, even searching books on other cultures to explore THEIR darkness, their memories, and he brings them to life."

"His creations are marvelous, in their own way, finely detailed; many of them wear Major Hochstetter's face, as do some of the nutcrackers, as well as others we encountered during the war and even before. They still give me cold chills to look at them, remembering, but there are many who find them compelling. Many of those creations also bear Colonel Hogan's face; the sight of that face on such nightmare creatures is always shocking to those who first see them. Yet, it seems right, and he has made Schatze Toy Company well known for such things."

Kinch spoke up, "so it's not just toys anymore, your company."

"Oh, no, though that gives me the most joy, knowing how much joy the toys give to others. There are other things - there is a small clock division, though I made them stop making the cuckoo clock with Major Hochstetter's head on the little bird; every time it sprang out, I felt as if the man himself had jumped out at me!"

"Bloody well could give a person a 'eart attack, that!" Peter exclaimed, and Schultz nodded earnestly in agreement.

"We do character dolls, too, of many varieties, and there are collectors for those as well."

Schultz blinked quickly, smiled then, a much more comfortable look than the previous one.

"Carter, I have seen your face among the dolls, many times. There is a drummer boy of the toy soldier sets, and an Indian doll that looks like you too, with his leather clothing and tiny bow and arrows. Newkirk, the Witzbold figures, the, how do you say, 'jolly jokers', the 'mischief-makers', those often bear your face, your eyes. Schatze has always made a collection of the professions also, figures many give as presents to ones practicing those professions. There are doctors, dentists, teachers, and many others. The chefs and bakers and waiters and others - those bear your face, Cockroach, many times, each time sketched and designed by Willie."

"Kinch" (and that came out hesitantly, Schultz still thinking of the man as "Sergeant Kinchloe" as often as not), "you started showing up not long after Willie started creating new designs. In fact, your face is on each of the characters Willie calls 'der schwarze Schutzen' or 'der schwarze Wachter', the black protectors or guardians. There are six of them, at least so far, although I think he is working on a new one now. They are all dressed differently, carrying different things to aid in their task, but each bear your face. Each new character is now sold out of first production as soon as we make the announcement, and a waiting list always follows."

"There is a game, also. A game, a game board, game pieces, rules and instructions on how to play. It is not like chess, one player against the other, but a game where all players must work together to achieve a goal. He has spent years working on it, and only now is it completed. Your faces, all of you, and Sergeant Olsen and Sergeant Wilson as well, show on those pieces, and each piece has its own function, certain things they can and cannot do, as each piece on a chess board does. There are other pieces - those you can call upon for assistance, those who will try to swerve you from your path. And there is one other piece, one that bears a crown. It has two faces, that piece, one facing forward, the other back."

Schultz's own face looked as if he were looking backwards, into the past. "That piece, sometimes it moves in concert with the others on its side. But not always. Those pieces must always be aware of his position, be wary, because sometimes, that piece can be a danger to the others wearing the same colors, can interfere with the goal or even act toward a different goal entirely, putting the other players at risk. It depends only on a roll of the dice."

Newkirk snorted, "no, let me guess. That would be 'ogan, am I right?"

"Yah, that would be Colonel Hogan."

Each man sat with his own thoughts for a few minutes before the conversation started again.

"Schultze, he works at your factory. That is still in Heidelberg?" LeBeau asked. It had taken awhile, but he was more comfortable with Schultz now, had started taking part in more of the conversations. "Has he lived there long? I do not remember him saying he had family there."

Schultz shrugged, "still in Heidelberg, yes. It took a great deal to turn it back to the production of toys, but finally it was done. And, no, Willie does not have family in Heidelberg. His family, there are not so many now, and they were not comfortable, he with them, them with him either. I heard, I went to see him, I brought him away with me." He flushed a little at the raised brows. "It seemed best, you see."

"My Gretchen, she treats him much as she treats die Enkelkinder, the grandchildren. Our oldest daughter's son, they have much in common; there are - difficulties, yah, from the war? Ernst is ten, has been ten for several years; Ernst will always be ten, I believe, but he and Willie seem to communicate, understand each other in ways others cannot. He, Willie, lives in our son's old room; Gretchen makes sure he wears clean clothes, makes sure he eats, pours him out an evening glass of schnapps. Me, I wake him from his nightmares, take him with me to the factory, make sure he has what he needs for his work, see that he eats lunch, and bring him back home again. He stays with Berta and Ernst while we attend der Gottendienst, church. He will not step foot inside, becomes uncontrollable; he says he cannot, not since he gave service to the 'Dark Angel'."

That was a highly sobering picture; Klink had never been a mastermind, not to their recollection, but this painted a picture of a man who had, as Schultz has said, been broken.

Kinch wondered what would happen when Schultz and Gretchen weren't there; neither of them were so young either, and the harsh years had left their toll. Perhaps the children . . . He very hesitantly offered up that question, noticing the worried look that passed between Peter and Andrew. He wasn't sure whether the worry was for Klink, or for what wild hair Caeide might come up with. They were all a little relieved when Schultz just nodded reassuringly.

"My Berta, her son Ernst is much similar, as I said. Ernst and Willie are close friends; she has promised to take care of Willie if it is necessary. He is not in good health, though; his heart is not strong. I do not see that happening, but she has promised, and the other kinder have promised to help also. He will not be left uncared for."

 

The next day Schultz brought down the multi-colored carpet bag he'd carried along with his suitcase. From that bag he drew forth item after item, causing the kids to laugh and squeal with delight. Jamie, Louisa, Michelle, Marie got toys of bright colors and clever details; Karl and Kat got lavishly illustrated picture books along with a book of fairy tales and wooden puzzles.

The laughter started when other items came to light.

"Hey, it's me!" Carter exclaimed, grinning at a a six-inch Indian boy, complete with colorful costume and a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder, with a small mouse perched on one shoulder, and a fluffy-tailed rabbit sitting on one moccasined foot..

"It sure is, Andrew, right down to that cheeky grin of yours," Kinch agreed, "and Felix on your shoulder AND that blasted rabbit! What did you call it, Hassenpfeffer?"

"And look 'ere, these must be those 'schwarze Schutzen' old Schultzie 'ere was telling us about. No mistake, Kinch ole boy, that's you, to the life!"

"And this collection of mischief-makers? Oh, Peter my love, that's you, no doubt! This one, you had that very expression on your face when you tried to convince me you and Andrew had just sort of 'slid' off the side of the cliff, "not up to nothing, I swear, Caeide! 'Aven't a clue 'ow we ended up 'alfway down! Must 'ave been a really strong gust of wind", snorting to show just how much she believed THAT! That got a laugh from everyone as the three figures were passed around.

Marya and Callie were delighted with the figures depicting a restaurant owner, a chef, a baker, a waiter, a sommelier, and even LeBeau was reluctantly impressed. 

"We must display these on a wall shelf at the restaurant, so that all may enjoy them," Marya enthused. Schultz was still trying to grasp the reality of the Russian woman, Marya Parmanova, now Marya Parmanova LeBeau. Cally, well, he hadn't even started to deal with that yet, COULD not, not without breaking into giggles most inappropriate of a man of his size and age. {"LeBeau! The Cockroach!"} the thought would come to him again and again, and once again those disturbing sounds would issue forth til he was short of breath. Still, he openly fawned over the two girls, Marie and Michelle, one with deep red hair and amber eyes, the others with rich auburn hair and eyes shaped like a cat's, promising to tell them stories of all the wonderful things "your papa made, almost from thin air, and so delicious, every bit of it!".

They all noted that none of the figures had Hogan's face, though he'd said that Klink made pretty much a specialty of those. He DID present them with a wooden chest holding a set of that game he'd told them about. He brought out all the pieces, the instructions and all else, and finally the only thing left in the chest was a small cardboard box. They all looked at it was some trepidation. That had to be the crowned game piece. 

Schultz cleared his throat. "The game plays very well without that piece; I have a set I use myself, and I do not use that." He flushed, "to tell the truth, I destroyed my copy of it, burnt it in the stove. It seemed right, somehow, for the best, yah?"

Newkirk reached out and lifted the small box and held it for a moment, fingers twitching to open it and take a look, but resisting firmly.

"Ya got that right, Schultzie. 'Ere, Andrew, pull open that latch, will ya?"

Andrew hastened to open the front of the wood stove, and with a quick gesture, the small box joined the merrily burning wood, causing a shower of sparks that Andrew hastily slammed the door shut on.

They all sat around the table looking at the game pieces, the playing board and all else. There were six major male players, and the children giggled as they recognized the men in the room, and two others they were told were 'Sergeant Olsen, our 'outside man', and this 'ere's Scotty Wilson'. There were three major female players as well, and Marya marveled at the detail of her piece, as did Caeide hers. There was a rather fierce looking Warrior, looking like she could be Caeide's sister, just enough difference to tell apart. And the creatures and other beings? Works of art, each and every one of them. Mountain troll and leopard; mouse and badger; and several more.

Andrew was fascinated with each and every one of them. "Gee, thanks, Schultzie! This will be great fun!"

The woodstove took a moment to let out a rather alarming hiss, and Caeide and Cally took a quick look at each other. Caeide stepped to the pantry and pulled out several jars, combining bits and pieces to form a full handful of dried herbs. Cally had gone to the cabinet to pull down the salt, pouring a goodly amount over the herbs in Caeide's hand. 

"Andrew love, open the top of the stove for me, will you," and when he did, she tossed the handful downward, and he closed the top right away. The hiss died away, sounding amazingly disgruntled. The women waited a moment, Cally to one side, Caeide to the other, then they nodded, satisfied.

Marya looked from one to the other, "should we ask, my dear vons?" 

Schultz hastened to say, "No, no, do not! It is better we know nothing, nothing!" 

The quick snort from LeBeau, followed by Kinch and the others, and soon a relieved round of laughter filled the room.

In the quiet that followed, broken only by a residual chuckle or two, a voice carried loud and clear, when five year old Jamie answered what had been a whispered question by Michelle, "don't pay them no nevermind, 'Chelle. Just being silly, they are. Da and Daddy Andrew get like that sometimes. Nothing to worry over. In fact, it's best we pretend we didn't see anything out of the ordinary at all. That's usually w'at Mum does."

Newkirk broke up at that calm statement from their oldest, and when he'd stopped laughing, the four grinning men all stated in unison, "we know nothing. We see nothing. We hear nothing. We were not here. We did not even get out of bed this morning!"

And the children watched in some disgust as the FIVE men became hysterical with laughter, while the three women looked on with deeply amused resignation. 

"See, 'Chelle. W'at did I tell you. Just ignore them. It's really best that way," the younger replica of Peter Newkirk said with feeling.

Schultz took another long look at that youngster, marveling at those familiar blue-green eyes, that familiar expressive face, along with his twin sister - her with the dark red curls and amber eyes. Neither had surprised him; indeed, he expected nothing other. He HAD been startled when he'd met Karl, to see equally familiar but very different eyes staring back at him from the younger boy's slightly narrow face; his twin glorying in her own red curls and those unusual eyes. Well, he'd been startled, but had only nodded; surprising it might have been, but none of his business, surely. Even on those rare occasions when he DID see something, he didn't have to overthink the matter; of that he was certain.

He'd been even more startled as he left his room earlier that morning, when he had surprised two of the permanent Haven residents sharing a warm kiss in the upstairs hallway. He'd stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropped to his chin, watching as the taller then laid his forehead against his companion's and whispered a few soft words, getting a soft breathy laugh and shining smile in return. He'd made a point of tiptoeing toward the landing and then downward. If they didn't know he had seen or heard them, it was the same as if he HADN'T; he was quite sure that was the case. 

Still, he'd been obviously bewildered enough that when Caeide, greeting him at the foot of the stairs, she asked, "is there something amiss, Schultz?", only to get a determined, "I know nothing, I see nothing, I hear nothing."

He took a cautious look toward the top of the stairs, and firmly declared, "sometimes, I know and see and hear even LESS than nothing!"

Caeide had looked puzzled, then took a quick look up to her two lads descending the stairs, laughing and joking with each other, Andrew for once not taking a tumble, but only because Peter reached out to snag him just before he did so, complaining, "coo, Andrew! 'Ow many times 'ave you gone up and down these bloody stairs??! Think you'd get the 'ang of it by now without going arse over tea kettle!!"

She guessed that while Jamie and Karl, one so like Peter, the other Andrew to the life, would have given him a part of the story, Schultz must have seen something upstairs that gave him a better idea of the more complicated (at least to the outside eye) state of affairs at Haven. Well, they'd discussed that, the three of them, hadn't they, the night before:

***  
"Can't see just sitting ole Schultzie down for a talk, you know! And it don't feel right, just tip-toeing around the w'ole thing, watching every word and all else," Peter had offered.

"Well, gee, guys. I don't see what's the big deal! We just say, 'Schultzie, Peter and me . . .' Uh, no. Probably not. Maybe 'Schultzie, me and Caeide and Peter . . .' Uh, no, probably not. Well, maybe something like, 'Hey, Schultz, guess what! We . . .' You know, it IS kinda hard to explain, to someone like Schultzie," he finally realized.

Peter laughed, remembering that time in the tunnel, when he did his own series of 'Uh, no's' - those had involved Andrew too!

Finally, though highly amused at some of their ideas, she had finally, gently, told them, "well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words, lads. Maybe words aren't really necessary, not if you draw the picture clearly enough."  
***

Now she laughed gently, thinking the two must have drawn a very clear picture indeed. 

"Aye, well, Schultz, perhaps that's for the best, you know. Come, I've started breakfast, and you can test a new recipe for a molasses and brown sugar and hazelnut tart I'm experimenting with. Louie is thinking of adding it to their menu, even naming it after us - Haven Three Friends Tart. He's added all kinds of specialties to his menus, recipes from various friends from all over, if he thinks they'll appeal. It's an honor to think this might be included. Come, see if you think it would be pleasing."

Obviously Schultz approved greatly of the concoction, devouring it quickly to the accompaniment of low groans of satisfaction. He finished his last bite, looked at the remaining tart, then turned red and choked, trying to catch his breath.

"Ei, you alright, Schultzie? No cause to go gulping your food, not 'ere. Nobody'll snatch it from you. 'Ere, Caeide'll get you another piece, if you like," a smiling Peter Newkirk offered, clapping him on the back briskly a time or two. The man was no longer choking, but now chuckling with deep amusement.

"No, Newkirk, it was that I finally saw it, understood - that being on the Cockroach's menu. I even saw how he should describe it! 'Haven Three Friends Tart - nussartig, kostlich, sattigend'". His chuckles were now turning to giggles that puzzled the whole lot of them, at least the guys.

If the men were puzzled at why the old soldier found that so dreadfully amusing, the women were less so. Marya laughed, "yes, it suits vell, does it not? 'Nutty, rich, satisfying'. That describes it quite vell - Haven, the Three Friends, AND the tart!"

Caeide had grinned, seeing Peter and Andrew blush just a little, their own grins starting, nodded and agreed, "aye, Schultz. An apt description, truly!"

So it was, as Marya had predicted, a lovely reunion. She and Cally and LeBeau and the girls had stayed the whole time, LeBeau not finding it nearly as difficult as he'd feared, being around their former guard. In fact, he found himself remembering some especially funny or poignant scenes with the old man, and more than one of the company had tears of laughter, sometimes tears of another kind, appear during his re-telling. Though, while the Frenchman expressed his thanks for the 'characters' Schultz had brought, each bearing LeBeau's face, he still wasn't sure if he could handle them being on display. While his feelings, his memories of Schultz had been softened, he wasn't so sure about Klink. He would wait and see. 

It was time to leave, and the plane and pilot waiting. A final shared drink, a solemn handshake all around, and a final parting from their guest, one they'd heard before, one that made each of them smile to hear now from the old man.

"Goodbye, boys. Be good boys, now; no monkey business!"


End file.
